One Is for Sorrow
by black.k.kat
Summary: Tobirama loved Itama enough to go against the natural laws in an attempt to bring him back. For Itama, it's time to return the favor.
1. turned from the illusion

**Rating:** T

 **Warnings:** Angst, time travel, brotherly fluff, brotherly angst, Itama and Tobirama both being dramatic, unhealthy coping mechanism, Izuna being a dork, Madara being Overprotective, Deus Ex Hamura, canon levels of violence, etc.

 **Word Count:** ~5000

 **Pairings:** Izuna/Itama, Hashirama/Mito, possibly pre-Madara/Tobirama

 **Summary:** Tobirama loved Itama enough to go against the natural laws in an attempt to bring him back. For Itama, it's time to return the favor.

 **Disclaimer:** Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

 **Notes:** Red_Hot_Holly_Berries (my own personal enabler) and I have an ongoing Thing: she tries to turn everything into angst, I retaliate by trying to turn everything into fluff, and sometimes things explode. Like this fic. It started as an Itama-fic, took a nosedive into how Hashirama isn't the best brother, struggled up to become a fix-it, twisted sideways into more brotherly angst with a side of grievous wounds, and crashed headlong into "well Itama can turn into a magpie now _take that_!"

It's a little silly, a little funny, a little sad, and has been far too much fun to work on. There's a thousand other things I should be doing aside from posting yet another WIP, but sometimes you just need cute boys turning into birds and saving people.

The beginning dialogue is straight from _As Is the Sea Marvelous_ , which was the starting point for all the angst. Chapter titles are from Rumi's _Gone to the Unseen_.

* * *

 _ **One Is for Sorrow**_

 _1\. turned from the illusion_

"How could you, Tobirama?"

"It was war."

"It was unnecessary!"

"I don't understand why you're so angry. I did what I had to."

"You destroyed any chance we might have had of peace! Madara will blame us all for Izuna's death! He won't rest until he's avenged him!"

"We are at _war_. Brother, I know you and Madara were friends, but it has been _years_. The Uchiha Clan still opposes us; would you have us lay down our weapons and die? Would you let them raid our lands, kill whatever children they find, without striking back? That is foolishness."

"I know you, Tobirama. I know how fast you are. If you had wanted to, you could have turned your sword, injured Izuna instead of killing him. Why? Why, _just this once_ , couldn't you show a little mercy?"

"Madara is one man. The clans are tired of war; there is still hope that—"

"It was Madara's dream too, Tobirama! Without him standing beside me it is practically meaningless! He's like a brother to me. Can't you understand? Peace was a dream we shared! To go forward without him—it will be _empty_. And now—now any chance of that is _gone_."

"I regret that my actions have caused you distress, anija."

"Go away, Tobirama. Just—leave me be, please."

 _Goodbye, Brother_.

It goes unsaid.

(But Itama hears it.)

* * *

Itama is accustomed to frustration.

Nineteen years of life, and nine of them were spent as the drab, average brother who could never live up to the flashy genius of his older brothers, the easy charm of his younger brother. Ten more years after that spent as a ghost, a soul tethered to the living world by his favorite brother's mistake, insubstantial and invisible, growing and changing and forced to watch his family crumble—

Itama feels he can safely say he knows more about frustration than anyone else.

And yet none of his previous frustrations can even hold a candle to this one.

"No," he whispers, though he knows from long experience that no one will hear him. Even the strongest sensor in Fire Country couldn't, even if that sensor wasn't lying at Itama's feet, his blood staining the grass beneath him.

" _No_ ," he says again, because there's nothing else he _can_ say, and he drops to his knees, reaching for Tobirama's head. His red eyes are fixed in death, already dulling, and Itama's breath catches on a sob. He tries to touch, tries to lift Tobirama's head so that his older brother isn't just lying in the dirt, discarded like trash, but his fingers pass right through, the way they have so many, many times before.

The boneless, lifeless sprawl, antithesis of Tobirama's carefully controlled grace, doesn't change, and Itama shudders as a sob wracks his body.

Dead. Tobirama is dead, was _murdered,_ and there was no way for Itama to stop it.

"Are you happy now?" he demands, useless, unheard. The words strangle around another sob, and Itama has always cried too easily—cried for birds caught by cats, for fish on a line, for kittens drowned in a spring flood—but this time the tears are fiercer, hotter, twisted with loathing and self-directed rage. Hatred for Tobirama's killer, and hatred for himself, caught by the Uchiha when he should have been warier, nothing now but a ghost trapped in the strings of one of Tobirama's early attempts at Edo Tensei.

"Are you happy?" he asks again, and the words break in his mouth like glass, their edges sharp enough to draw blood. "Killing my brother isn't going to bring yours back!"

None of the Uchiha around him so much as stir, and Tobirama's murderer simply stares down at his fallen body for an endless minute, chest heaving, eyes spinning crimson and midnight. He trembles, just faintly, and then takes a step back, pressing a hand over his face. The sound Uchiha Madara makes isn't a sob—it's wordless, formless, a noise full of aching grief and raw pain, twisted through with fury left to blaze unchecked.

Itama looks at Madara, standing with his bloody sword still in his hand, and knows that he isn't.

 _Good_ , he thinks, and almost says, but the word sits uneasily in his chest and can't quite make it past his tongue. He heard Madara's scream when Izuna fell, remembers all too clearly the grief he felt when Kawarama's body was carried back to the Senju compound, and can't quite make himself that petty.

 _Too soft_ , their father always told him.

 _Kind_ , Tobirama used to tell him in the night, when nightmares drove him to his brother's bed. He always said it like it was high praise, and Itama loved him for it.

Looking down, a sob shaking through him, Itama ghosts his fingers over the red marks on Tobirama's cheeks, right and left and then the one down his chin. Three marks, and maybe no one else can understand the meaning, but Itama has followed one step behind his older brother since the day Tobirama tried to resurrect him, only succeeding in binding his soul to the living world.

One slash for each brother he lost, and one more as a silent promise to keep Hashirama alive no matter what.

"You did it," he whispers, though he has no doubt Tobirama's soul is already somewhere far beyond the reach of his voice. "You saved him one more time. He's going to be so mad at you."

"He wasn't carrying any weapons," one of the Uchiha kunoichi says, crouching down beside Tobirama's body, almost on top of Itama. He ducks away automatically, not comfortable with the strangeness of having someone reach through him, and settles to stand protectively over his brother, no matter how little good it will do. He's not a child anymore, growing and maturing even as a ghost, as if some piece of him were still alive, but that will hardly let him fight an entire group of Uchiha when he can't so much as summon a breeze. He wants to—wants it more than he's wanted anything in a long time—but whatever the Uchiha choose to do to Tobirama's body, he can't stop them.

"What?" another Uchiha asks, this one a younger man with his hair pulled up in a short tail. There's a frown overtaking his face as he kneels beside her, Sharingan eyes flickering over Tobirama's body.

The woman tosses him a look, sharp and a little chiding, and repeats, "No weapons. Why would Senju Tobirama come to Uchiha lands unarmed?"

"It doesn't matter," Madara says harshly, though his gaze is still fixed on the sprawl of pale limbs across the forest floor.

The man with the ponytail murmurs something that only Itama, standing right next to him, manages to catch.

"Not anymore, it doesn't."

In that moment, Itama hates all of them. His hands curl into fists, and he looks away, because looking down means seeing Tobirama's corpse, dead at the hands of the Uchiha. Dead because they live in a world where only retribution matters, even in the face of friendships.

He wonders what Hashirama will think, when Tobirama never comes home.

They fought, he knows. Well, for a given value of fighting, because Tobirama might snap and snarl but he'd never _really_ raise his voice at family. And especially never at his last living brother. Itama could only watch as Hashirama spoke those cutting words, those _damning_ words, so overcome with his own grief that he entirely failed not notice Tobirama stiffening, drawing in on himself.

If he had, maybe he would have stopped Tobirama from walking straight into Uchiha territory on a mad quest to make things right.

Maybe he's managed it. Maybe now that he's gotten his revenge for Izuna's death Madara will be calmer, more reasonable. Maybe peace is possible now.

Itama doesn't care. He doesn't care, because his big brother is _dead_. There's no one to save him, no way to undo this—

Sound ceases.

Startled, Itama turns back, only to find Madara frozen midway through the act of re-sheathing his sword, the two other Uchiha stuck halfway to their feet. There's a twist in the air, a flicker, like chakra but somehow wilder, looser. Light blooms, gentle and soft, and a figure steps out of it. Instantly, Itama recoils, hands coming up in defensive positions he still can't forget at the sight of muted red skin, long white hair, a demonic face crowned with horns. He leaps for the trees as eerie black-and-yellow eyes settle directly on him, but—

His feet hit the ground and stick there.

Tobirama.

He can't leave his brother.

The monster looks down at his brother's body, then back up at him, and moves to follow Itama. It passes right through the frozen Uchiha as if it too is a ghost, and Itama's heartbeat catapults itself into his mouth. Is it here for him? Has it come to drag him back to the land of the dead? Is Tobirama's death enough to undo whatever chains his faulty Edo Tensei created to bind Itama's soul to the earth?

"No!" he cries, and the habit of a shinobi's life has him reaching for the chakra he can no longer touch. "I have to stay with him! You can't take me away!"

The monster stops. It tilts its head, regarding him, and then—

It laughs.

Fingers with long claws reach up, closing around its face, and there's a blinding whirl of chakra as it pulls sharply. The entire face comes off, as if it's nothing but a mask, and with it the entire presence vanishes. Like mist suddenly condensing back into a cloud, the body turns wavering-white, then shrinks, whirling in on itself. Out of the haze man emerges, normal except for the two small horns rising from his brow. His hair is long and blue-white in the forest's dimness, one lock beside his face wrapped with cloth, and his eyes are featureless lavender, almost white.

"Don't worry, child," he says, holding up one slim hand as he approaches Itama. "I'm here to help you save your brother, not to take you away."

Save him? Itama's breath catches in his throat, a lump like stone in his chest. His eyes burn, but he doesn't dare shift out of his ready stance to wipe them away—he can't afford to leave that big an opening against an unfamiliar opponent, and he might be weak compared to Tobirama and Hashirama, but he's not _stupid_.

"Tobirama is _dead_ ," he says, and ignores the way his voice cracks, the heat of the tears suddenly washing down his cheeks. "There's no way I can save him."

The faint, reassuring smile on the man's face fades, and he comes to a halt just a handful of feet away. "You must get that stubbornness from Hagoromo," he says, a note of amused disgust in his voice. "It seems to run in the family."

The unfamiliar name makes Itama frown, but he doesn't waver. "What do you want?" he insists, and hates the way he sounds, so much less intimidating than Tobirama, even when Tobirama isn't trying and Itama _is_.

Lavender eyes narrow, and the man folds his arms into the sleeves of his white robe. "My name is Hamura," he says, as though that should mean something. "The Uzumaki Clan calls me Shinigami. My brother is the Sage of Six Paths, and he might be content sitting back and watching his descendants run around making a mess of things, but I'm rapidly losing my patience with it. You're going to help me put things right."

That sounds a lot more ominous than Itama would like. He shifts back another step towards the trees, even though he's fairly certain he's not going to be able to escape one of the Uzumaki's gods no matter how fast he runs. "I'm dead!" he protests, even as he gauges the distance to the river. Running water won't cover a scent he no longer has, but there's usually mist along the banks this time of day. If he can make it there, he can hide—

Hamura snorts, just faintly. "You're not _entirely_ dead," he corrects. "Thank that meddling brother of yours. Apparently no one ever taught him it was better not to play around with other people's souls."

Training says he should be wary, but Itama's instinct is louder right now, and it says this man means him no harm. A little warily, he lowers his arms, shifting back to stand straight, and takes a breath. "He was just lonely," he says quietly, because he's stayed by Tobirama's side for the last ten years; he knows all too well how his brother felt. "He wanted to save us, the way he couldn't when we died."

For a long moment, Hamura simply watches him, considering. Then he tips his head in acknowledgement, ceding the point. "He brought you halfway back," is all he says. "You stand with a foot in the world of the living and one in the land of the dead. It means you are under my jurisdiction, but you still have ties to the earth. I can use that."

Being used is something every shinobi is familiar with, so Itama doesn't waver. "Is that why I grew?" he asks, looking down at his hands. Not as big as Hashirama's, not as graceful as Tobirama's, but…his own. Nineteen years old, an adult even in the eyes of civilians, and he's existed for every moment of the last ten years, but he hasn't actually been _alive_.

"It is," Hamura confirms, and something in his voice is softer now, his whole bearing eased just a little. When Itama looks up at him he smiles, reaching out, and offers his hand. "Your brother loved you enough to go against the natural laws to bring you back. Would you like to return the favor?"

Automatically, Itama glances over at Tobirama, sprawled out at the feet of the man who killed him. Tobirama looks…small, like this. Like a broken doll carelessly dropped by a forgetful child, no longer of value, and—

"Of course I will," he says, and pretends he can't hear the way his voice shakes. Itama is always scared, always terrified of everything. But he keeps going regardless, forges on because there's no other choice to make, and now is certainly no different. "But—he died."

He sounds like such a child, and he _hates_ it.

Hamura makes a faint sound of amusement, stepping forward. "As you yourself did. But I will take you back to a moment when neither of you are dead, and leave you to fix it. In return, I want you to kill someone for me, little magpie."

Light is gathering again, the wavering form of the robed demon with its red skin starting to bleed into the air around Hamura, even as his human form grows fainter. This time Itama doesn't try to run away, even if he still wants to. "Aren't you the Shinigami?" he asks as bravely as he can manage, not allowing himself to retreat. "Can't you just do it yourself?"

Hamura's chuckle fills the air around them. "As a piece of my mother's will given form, he knows me far too well, and would see me coming in an instant. But if you change things for the better, he'll step in to drag them back to chaos, and you'll have the advantage. Do we have a deal?"

This time Itama doesn't look towards his brother's body; he doesn't need to. "Yes," he says firmly, and reaches for Hamura's hand.

The world tilts, changes, collapses and reforms. Itama can feel himself falling and cries out, but it's not his own voice that emerges—it's the call of a magpie, warbling and throaty, and when massive hands with dull red skin scoop him up, he beats white-and-black wings edged with iridescent blue in startled protest.

"Easy, easy," Hamura tells him, and it's unnerving to hear his steady voice emerge from such an inhuman face. "I may as well give you an advantage before I drop you from the nest." His fingers close gently over Itama's magpie body, hold him securely even as he turns, and the forest around them shifts to a rocky plain. There are Senju in their armor, Uchiha without, and Itama feels a cold chill run through him when he realizes that he recognizes this place. He was here just yesterday, following his brother into battle like a ghostly shadow.

This is where Izuna died. This is where Hashirama lost all hope of mending bridges with the Uchiha clan, and where Madara swore revenge for his little brother's death.

Hamura raise his hands closer to his face, studying Itama closely for a moment, and then nods. "I'll be watching," he tells him, and then leans back and tosses him gently into the air. Itama squawks, not expecting the motion, but his wings flare out of their own volition, catch the air as if he's already well accustomed to flying, and in a moment he's aloft, soaring above the battleground.

The first moment is dizzying, a confusion of smoke and dust and unexpected updrafts, but Itama climbs carefully, one eye studying the ground beneath him. That mass of fire on the far edge has to be Madara and Hashirama's fight, and he dips in the opposite direction, towards the other edge of the battle. There's a flare of fire, bright enough to blind, and in a rush a dragon made of water rises to meet it. Steam explodes outward in a blinding cloud, too thick to even see hints of motion through, and Itama knows exactly what's going to happen next.

His heart caught high up in his throat, he folds his wings and dives.

It's a dizzying rush as he plunges into the cloud of steam, because there's not enough time to plan anything at all. Even shinobi trained for speed can't hope to match Tobirama, but Itama knows this battle, knows exactly how all of this will play out right down to the steps his brother takes, and—

The change of shape is less of a snap than he expects, more a shift than a switch. Itama drops, a flight of kunai just missing his head, and turns. Izuna jerks, eyes going wide as he brings his sword up, but Itama is counting seconds and there's no _time_ , not even for the realization that the Uchiha can see him. He ducks under Izuna's guard, slamming a shoulder into his chest and hurling him to the side, and without pausing he turns right back.

There's a flash of yellow light.

Itama has no sword, no kunai, not even so much as a branch to shield himself with. He can't do anything but meet his older brother's eyes as Tobirama brings his sword around, and he can see the exact moment Tobirama realizes that the scene before him has changed. His face goes slack, horror rising in a drowning wave as he jerks his blade up. In the same instant Itama ducks, and he can feel the rush of air as it skims right over his hair. A fraction of a heartbeat later, there's a hand on his shoulder, pulling up, an arm around his waist, a ragged gasp against his ear. Tobirama's impossibly familiar chakra crests, a yellow starburst filling the air around them, and then darkness that instantly gives way to light and silence.

Carefully, Itama cracks an eye open, but all he can see is the blue of his brother's armor where he's clinging to him. And—he doesn't want to let go. His last image of his brother was Tobirama on the ground, eyes empty as they stared at nothing, and Itama can't stand it.

"Tobirama," he says, and doesn't even try to make the word come out steady.

The arms around him tighten, almost crushing in their force, and Tobirama shakily breathes out into Itama's hair. "Kai," he whispers, even as he sinks to his knees, pulling Itama with him. "Kai. _Kai_!"

Despite himself, despite the many times he's told himself not to cry, Itama feels tears on his cheeks. "It's not an genjutsu, I swear," he whispers, not wanting to lift his head but knowing he needs to. Even the first instant of trying to pull back is thwarted, though; Tobirama's arms don't budge, and he's always been stronger than Itama.

"It has to be," Tobirama says, and his fingers curl against Itama's back, his shoulders, ten points of pressure to ground and steady both of them in turn. "You look—you _are_ —"

"You brought me back," Itama tells him, and Tobirama goes stiff against him. Itama knows enough of his brother's thoughts to understand why. This is everything he wants, created by his own hands, fixed with his own effort, and that's all Tobirama has ever needed to be content.

He pulls back, and this time Tobirama lets him, though his hands don't leave Itama's shoulders. "It's true!" he insists. "That experiment, with the shinobi you captured, and the seal—it brought me halfway back, and someone else brought me the rest of the way."

For an endless moment, Tobirama stares at him, and Itama can see the way he's caught between disbelief and wild hope. "No one else knows about that," he says slowly, and that spark of courage in the face of disbelief is growing in his eyes. "No one else _could_ know."

Itama smiles at him, curling his hand around Tobirama's wrist. "I only saw the aftermath," he admits. "But I saw you going over your notes afterwards, before Hashirama burst in and you threw that paperweight at his head. I figured it out from there."

A breath, a beat, and Tobirama hauls him close again, burying his face in Itama's two-toned hair. "You were always more clever than you gave yourself credit for." The words are muffled, but clear enough, and it feels the same way it used to when Tobirama called him kind.

"It wasn't _hard_ ," Itama mutters, though his cheeks feel warm. He's not particularly clever, and he's always known it. "It's easy to piece things together when no one else can see you."

A faint hitch in Tobirama's breath, and Itama can feel his fingers curl more tightly into his shirt. "Forgive me," Tobirama says, and the words are so rough they may as well be cracking right down the center. "I—you always wanted to be seen, more than anything, and I took that away from—"

Exasperation flares, familiar and frequent when faced with his bullheaded older brother—both of them, to some extent, but especially Tobirama, who's always doing too much and thinking he does too little. With a huff, Itama pulls back, slaps Tobirama in the back of the head, and fixes him with the firmest glare he can manage. "No, aniki!"

Tobirama blinks, red eyes clearly bewildered, and opens his mouth.

"No," Itama repeats, more quietly but just as firmly, and slaps a hand over Tobirama's lips. He takes a breath, not quite able to bear the look in his brother's face, and shakes his head. "Thank you for bringing me back. I'm sorry it took this long, but I'm here now and I'm not leaving."

There's a long, long moment of silence as Tobirama stares at him, blank and silent. Something like nervousness curls in Itama's stomach, but before it can build to the point of fleeing the scene, Tobirama takes a breath that shakes in his chest. His hands frame Itama's face, calluses rough but dearly familiar, and he pulls Itama in to rest their foreheads together. His eyes fall shut, pale lashes like crescents of snow against the darker skin, and he whispers, "It really—you are Itama. No one else would yell at me like that."

Of all the things to be remembered for, Itama thinks, somewhere between sheepish and fond. He twists his fingers into his brother's hair, holding him close, and can't help but remember the argument between Tobirama and Hashirama that ended up driving Tobirama straight to the Uchiha. It hasn't happened yet, though.

It won't happen at all, Itama vows, matching his breathing to his brother's. Maybe Tobirama was always been the one to protect Itama before, but now he's going to return the favor, even if he has to protect Tobirama from himself and Hashirama equally.

"Hashirama will be overjoyed," Tobirama says, as if he can see the direction of Itama's thoughts.

Itama wants to see Hashirama too, wants to see the entire clan now that _they_ can see _him_. And he wants nothing more than to cling to his brother as Tobirama drags him home the same way he used to when Itama exhausted himself training, but—

He made a deal. He made a deal to save Tobirama's life, to bring him back from the dead, and it doesn't matter that Tobirama isn't dead _right now_. Itama agreed to take care of Hamura's task, and he won't be able to do that if he's miraculously returned from the dead in the eyes of the Senju Clan. Tobirama can know, but no one else.

"Itama." There's something very close to alarm in Tobirama's voice now, and Itama jerks his head up, startled, as Tobirama's hands close even more tightly on him. "Itama, please. Come home."

"Not yet," Itama says, catching his hands, and it's the habit of a child, but he twines his fingers with Tobirama's, lets Tobirama's bigger hands cover his. "I can't save everyone I need to if I'm stuck in the compound. And once I go back, you _know_ Hashirama isn't going to let me out again."

" _I_ won't let you out again," Tobirama retorts, and Itama has to laugh, remembering the way Tobirama stepped in front of him, in front of Hashirama, whenever it seemed as if their father was going to come to blows. Always, always, he's been the defender, and Itama loves him fiercely for it.

"I have things I need to do, and I'm the only one who can manage them," he says, and he can see the reluctance in Tobirama's eyes. He hesitates, but—

All it takes is a thought, and the world shifts.

" _Itama_?" Tobirama demands, and as a magpie Itama glances up at him and cocks his head, half-spreading his wings. Tobirama shakes his head, even as he scoops Itama up between his hands to look at him more closely. "I assume this isn't a side effect of Edo Tensei, so don't think you're going to escape telling me just how you managed to change shape, little brother."

That, at least, is a far cry better than what he was previously about to say, which Itama knows would have been a threat to drag him back to the compound against his will. Content with that, he warbles and rubs his beak against the pad of Tobirama's thumb.

Tobirama lets out a breath that's almost a laugh, holding him up to eye-level. "I take it this is your way of ending the argument?" When Itama simply trills innocently at him, he rolls his eyes. "Very well. I dislike this plan, but I won't take you back to the compound. However, I expect to see you at least once a day. Understood?"

The trick with Tobirama is to outlast his stubbornness, Itama thinks, amused, and reaches up to tug pointedly on a lock of white hair falling over the faceplate. Tobirama makes a noise of disgruntled affection, but—

He's smiling, just a little.

Itama can't remember the last time he saw Tobirama's smile.


	2. heard the drummer's call

**Rating:** T

 **Warnings:** Brotherly fluff, brotherly angst, Itama and Tobirama both being cute and full of feels, unhealthy coping mechanism, Izuna being a dork, canon levels of violence, etc.

 **Word Count:** ~6400

 **Pairings:** Izuna/Itama, Hashirama/Mito, pre-Madara/Tobirama

 **Disclaimer:** Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto was smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

 **Notes:** Straight from the lips of Holly, world's greatest enabler: _I regret nothing_.

I am of the same opinion, for the record. More magpie!Itama, for your viewing pleasure.

* * *

 _ **One Is for Sorrow**_

 _2\. heard the drummer's call_

He dreams in flashes and shattered shades, of wings and swords and yellow light. Dreams of being trapped behind a pane of glass with _out out out_ beating in his blood and fists bruised raw-red from his trying. Then the glass breaks and he's falling falling _flying_ , fingers turned to feathers and heart to fire.

It's not the sensation of tumbling down that wakes him, but of success, a rush of fierce joy in his blood, and Itama opens his eyes with a silent breath that nevertheless feels like a shout.

He's still cradled in the branches of the tree he chose to sleep in, braced against the trunk. There's a magpie perched on the end of the bough, watching him with beady-bright eyes, and when it sees him looking back it warbles a greeting. Blue-brushed wings flare out, and another magpie answers it, then another, and another.

Four of them, Itama thinks, pushing himself up to sit. There was…a rhyme, wasn't there, for telling the future by a group of magpies? Tobirama read it to him once, before they became too old for such things.

 _One is for sorrow, two's for mirth, three's a blessing, four's a birth._

"Four for a birth?" Itama asks them, smiling. "Are you here for mine? Well, rebirth, I suppose, but I think it counts."

The smallest of the group flutters down to land on his bent knee, and Itama gives a delighted laugh, offering her his hand. Perfectly bold, she climbs up onto his fingers, chittering at him. This one's wings and tail are more green than blue, warmed by an undertone of gold, and when Itama raises a hand to carefully stroke the feathers on her breast she allows it easily, preening under the touch.

"You're so pretty," Itama tells her, smiling. "Are you my summons now? I didn't have them before, but I think we have some things in common now."

The magpie squawks, sounding exasperated, and Itama laughs, ducking away from her wings as she flutters up to the branch above him. "So that's a yes?" he asks cheekily, and gets another chiding warble. But she pauses, then bobs her head before taking wing again. This time the others join her, and Itama leans forward to watch them disappear into the morning sky.

"A tiding," he say to himself, because thinking out loud has always been a habit he couldn't break. He used to talk to Kawarama, and then to Tobirama, but, well. Ten years invisible and inaudible to everyone has taught him it's easiest to talk to himself. At least that way he doesn't expect a response. "That's what you call a group of magpies. They're a tiding."

He looks up through the branches stained by the first brush of sun, up towards the sky that's a clear and cloudless blue, and he thinks he can see more magpies in the distance.

 _One is for sorrow, two's for mirth, three's a blessing, four's a birth._ _Five for laughing, six for crying, seven for sickness, eight for dying. Nine is for love, ten is a kiss, eleven's a secret, and twelve grants a wish_.

Itama can't mark the number of them as they wheel across the rising sun, and somehow that realization feels like a shiver of foreboding down his spine.

* * *

Izuna can't stop thinking about it.

He's up before the sun, awake in time to hear the birds start up in the forest around the Uchiha compound. There are more of them than normal, loud and fierce, but the din can't manage to pull Izuna out of his thoughts as he perches on the edge of the wall.

Tobirama used a new jutsu yesterday, something Izuna has never seen in all his years of fighting the Senju. Something that let him move in a way even the Mangekyo Sharingan couldn't follow, as if he'd stepped right out of the physical world for an instant before reappearing. And…it wasn't the sort of thing Izuna was going to be able to dodge. He'd realized that as it happened, and—

Someone had pushed him out of the way.

They'd been gone a moment later, carried away by Tobirama's sunburst of a new jutsu, but Izuna rubs a hand over his ribs, remembering the moment all too clearly. He's bruised, but he's also _alive_ , and that's something to be thankful for. To wonder about, too, because he has no idea who would be reckless enough to interfere in a fight between him and Tobirama. He's not quite Madara, and Tobirama isn't Hashirama, but they're not lacking in power, either.

Even so, the shinobi who dropped into the middle of their fight hadn't hesitated. Hadn't wavered at all as he turned to face Tobirama, and then Tobirama took him away.

Izuna wonders if the stranger was an ally. Probably, given how he sacrificed himself to save Izuna so readily. There haven't been any reports of mysterious helpful figures from any of the patrols or scouts, though, so either he's focused on Izuna in particular, or…

Or Izuna really was about to die, and that was enough to make the shinobi step in.

He doesn't like the thought much. On the battlefield, he and Tobirama have always been roughly equal, and like their brothers they always engage each other to keep the rest of their clansmen out of the line of fire. But, if Tobirama—already fast, already devastating—can now move in ways the Sharingan can't predict, things are going to get a hell of a lot more dangerous for the Uchiha, and Izuna can't always count on a helpful stranger taking the blow for him.

They disappeared in the same flash of light Tobirama used, so logic say Tobirama _took_ the stranger. Izuna leans forward, hands gripping the heavy stone of the wall, and closes his eyes. He doesn't want to think about an ally of the Uchiha in Senju hands, suffering for saving Izuna's life. Doesn't want to think about Tobirama's ruthlessness and how it might apply to interrogation. Hashirama is soft enough that he might not condone such things, but Tobirama would without a doubt.

Tobirama is like Izuna in that way: they'll both do whatever it takes to protect their idiot older brothers, even if they have to take on the very worst aspects of the world their brothers are fighting to change.

 _Don't_ , Izuna tells himself, mouth tightening as he drags a hand over his hair. Don't think about torture and the Senju being stronger and a world that is always, always, _always_ one side pitted against the other.

He can't escape it, though. Can't banish the sight of wide, dark eyes, shaggy hair sharply divided into white and black, an expression of fearful determination. For all of three seconds Izuna saw him, but—

But he saved Izuna's life, and that's hard to forget.

"Izuna? What are you doing up here? Madara's been looking for you."

Izuna blinks, pulled back to reality by the familiar voice, and turns to find Hikaku right behind him. The younger man has his pike over his shoulder, clearly about to go on watch, but is watching him with concern clear in his expression.

"I'm fine," Izuna tells him, a futile attempt to preempt any displays of worry.

"Of course you are," Hikaku agrees with devastating mildness. He props his pike against the wall and takes a seat next to Izuna, facing the opposite direction as he studies the interior of the compound.

This is a trap Izuna knows well; Hikaku is calm and patient and never goads, never outright pushes him to talk about _feelings_ but at the same time one look from him is more than enough to trigger the itching _need_ for Izuna to defend himself, even if his words weren't a lie. It's a little horrifying just how many times Izuna has fallen victim to it, and recognizing that it's happening does nothing to stop its effectiveness.

"I _am_ ," he insists.

"Right," Hikaku says, still perfectly agreeable. "You're totally fine."

" _Completely_ ," Izuna snaps. "I've never been _more_ fine, okay? Yesterday _doesn't matter_ , and nothing happened—"

"Yesterday?" Hikaku casts him a sideways look, blinking innocently like he doesn't know _exactly_ what he's doing, the bastard. "You mean the battle? I heard Tobirama had some sort of new jutsu."

Izuna gives him a dark look. "He did," he admits, and it comes out grumpier than he would like. "Something with seals, knowing the bastard."

And…seals are one of the ways shinobi torture, aren't they? Sealed chakra, constant low-level pain, disorientation, emotional manipulation—seals can do all of that, and Tobirama is one of the best with them in the country. What if the shinobi who saved Izuna is going through that right now?

He hadn't been able to see Tobirama's face when the Senju realized he'd been thwarted, but…Tobirama hadn't returned to the battlefield. He'd probably been angry that the element of surprise regarding his new jutsu had been broken, and was busy taking it out on the one responsible.

"I'm going for a walk," Izuna bites out, and without waiting for Hikaku to answer he pushes off the wall, leaping down to land in the cleared ring around the compound.

Even though he's not looking, he can still see Hikaku shaking his head at him. "Your brother is going to kill you for wandering off when you're like this," he calls.

"I'm _fine_!"

"You said that already."

"It's _true_!"

Hikaku very obviously rolls his eyes, waving Izuna off, and Izuna huffs, turning and stalking into the trees. Everyone and their teenage cousin feels the need to have an opinion on his life, and it's getting aggravating. The Uchiha are at _war_. It's not like he's supposed to be bubbly and cheery all the time.

Even worse, they're fighting the _Senju_. Hashirama might be honorable, but Izuna remembers three older brothers, dead at Senju hands.

He doesn't want to think of his rescuer the same way. People stepping in to help others is rare, especially among shinobi clans, and Izuna is thankful. Intrigued, but grateful, because he's fought Tobirama enough times to know he would have gone for a killing blow the moment he found an opening.

Izuna's surprise would have given him that all too readily.

This isn't the first time Izuna has faced death, and he's absolutely certain that it won't be the last. He's a shinobi, and for all that Madara wants to change the world, for all that Hashirama wants to same, their world _won't_ change. Not enough to make shinobi obsolete, and as long as they're shinobi, their world simply _can't_ change.

Madara's never realized that, though, and Izuna doesn't quite know how to make him.

Still. Even if it wasn't the first time he's faced death, this time was…uncomfortably close. Without the stranger to knock him out of the way, he'd have been caught by the blinding-quick sweep of Tobirama's sword before he could so much as turn. That the stranger dodged it speaks to his skill, and probably also some knowledge of Tobirama's abilities. It's a puzzle, though, because Tobirama is the best sensor Izuna has ever encountered, and if he didn't notice someone watching him, spying on him, that someone is probably _very_ good.

Maybe it's even worth staging a raid of the Senju compound to break him out, Izuna thinks, and closes his hands into fists as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

Madara would never approve that. He _shouldn't_ , either. Izuna's being stupid. One life, no matter how skilled, isn't worth however many lives rescuing him would cost.

Coming to a halt, Izuna rubs a hand over his face, leaning back against a tree trunk. He didn't sleep well last night, and he can feel the fuzzy ache of exhaustion against his bones. Too much worrying, but it's not like he can go to Madara, who already has so many worries of his own. And—

Something rustles, and there's a flash of blue between the trees.

Instantly, Izuna is moving, more instinct than conscious thought. He throws himself forward, shadowing the figure leaping through the branches, and the Sharingan's almost painful focus floods his vision. This close to the Uchiha compound, anyone moving that fast—especially when they're headed _away_ —is suspect, and regardless of his distraction Izuna isn't about to let an intruder get past him.

But one chakra-swift step past a stand of trees the other shinobi has to go around and Izuna almost stops dead in surprise, because that's _Madara_.

Madara is one of the best shinobi. He's strong and fast and the equal of anyone but Senju Hashirama, but he's also the Uchiha Clan Head. He shouldn't be out here without an escort, a guard, and he's clearly not looking for Izuna; his steps are entirely focused, his eyes straight ahead. It's obvious he already has a destination in mind.

Maybe Izuna is too suspicious by nature, but he's fairly certain _something_ is up.

Before Madara can notice him—not that it looks like he's going to, but for all that his older brother is an idiot Izuna respects his skills as a shinobi and is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt—Izuna slows his steps slightly, dropping back to follow Madara from a safe distance. There's nothing he _should_ be interested in in this direction; Izuna can only think of the river, one of the smaller, less maintained shrines, and an old guard outpost that's been abandoned for years because it's too close to the border of Senju territory.

He really, really hopes that Madara just got it in his head to visit the shrine.

Ahead of him, Madara makes a sharp turn around a stand of rocks ( _not_ towards the shrine, then, damn it) and Izuna curses quietly, changing direction. By the time his line of sight clears, though, Madara is gone, too fast for Izuna to mark his direction.

Even when he doesn't know he's being followed, Madara manages to be a jerk about it, Izuna thinks with a huff, shoving a few loose strands of hair back behind his ears. He could check for tracks, actually put his shinobi skills to good use, but…he's not entirely sure he wants to know where Madara's going quite that badly. After all, Madara has a history of doing stupid things when he's alone, and Izuna is at the point where he'd really rather ignore it when at all possible.

Last time he followed Madara in this direction, he caught him meeting with the Senju Clan's heir, skipping rocks and acting like the child he was never otherwise allowed to be, and Izuna had to tell their father about it. Madara might have chosen his family that day, but he was noticeably cooler towards Izuna for months afterwards, and Izuna _hated_ it.

A flash of black and white startles him, makes him jerk and twist around with his heart suddenly in his throat. Something moving almost as fast as Madara darts into a particularly dense stand of trees to his left, and in its wake three magpies whirl and swoop among the branches.

"Really?" Izuna asks out loud, faintly peeved, because he came out here to _think_ , not spend all morning chasing ghosts. Already seeing Madara has thrown him off balance; this is just silly now.

Still, he follows, if with slightly more caution than before. Madara wasn't likely to kill him if he spotted him, but if this is a stranger there's no guarantee.

The magpies settle as he passes, bright eyes fixed on him with an unnerving amount of intelligence. One hops along the branch to match his steps, warbling as if amused. Izuna shoots it a dirty look, but doesn't try to chase it off, following a trail of faintly swaying branches. There's a clearing up ahead, and—

Izuna takes one more step and stops dead, heart suddenly in his mouth.

There's a boy perched on the branch of a tree, haloed by the morning sunlight that pours through the leaves. His hair is starkly divided between white and black, falling to frame his face, and he's smiling, warm and gentle in a way that makes Izuna's breath tangle in his throat. There's a magpie perched on his hand, fluttering its wings, and as Izuna watches the boy laughs, free and unabashed.

He looks different without that grim determination on his face, outside the heat of battle, but it's undoubtedly, _undeniably_ the same shinobi who pushed Izuna out of the path of Tobirama's blow.

 _Here_ , something beats in Izuna's blood. _He's here he's here he's_ alive _and Tobirama didn't kill him. Tobirama doesn't have him. He escaped._

"Oh, thank the gods," he chokes out before he can stop himself, taking a stumbling step forward. All of his usual grace is buried under an avalanche of relief and gratitude, because Izuna may be a shinobi, may be capable of being ruthless and relentless and deadly in all situations, but he's always hated people sacrificing themselves for him. He dislikes it in Madara, dislikes it in his clansmen, dislikes it even in strangers he's never met. Knowing that this boy _didn't_ die for him comes with a dizzying release of tension, and Izuna has to catch himself on the trunk of a tree as he staggers under the force of it.

The boy—not that much of a boy, now that Izuna can see him clearly—jerks and leaps to his feet as the bird hurls itself into the air in an explosion of beating wings. Dark eyes snap to Izuna, and then the stranger is gone as if he never existed at all, and the only person in the clearing is Izuna, heart beating wildly as a flock of magpies circles.

"Damn it," Izuna mutters after a long pause, and he thumps a fist against the tree trunk in frustration. That was _stupid_ , and Izuna is a little ashamed of himself. Of _course_ sneaking up on an unfamiliar shinobi—even one who saved his life—wasn't going to end well. Apparently he and Madara are more similar than he'd thought, if he's making mistakes like that.

With a trill, a magpie with bright blue on its wings flutters down to land on a branch just a little above eye-level. It's large for its kind, and pretty, with eyes that are somehow less sharp and more warm. When it sees Izuna looking back, it ruffles its feathers and trills again, a sweet and throaty sound.

"Hi," Izuna tells it, a little dry, but he's been reduced to talking to a _bird_ , so it can probably be forgiven. "That was _so smooth_ , did you see? Hikaku would be so proud of me. I managed to make someone turn tail and run in _four words_ , isn't that impressive?"

Another trill, a little higher and longer this time, and Izuna would _swear_ the magpie is laughing at him. He sighs, running a hand over his messy ponytail, and gives it a warning look. "Yeah, yeah. You laugh now, but at this rate I'm going to turn into _Madara_ and that's a fate worse than death. Soon I'll be tossing people in koi ponds when they annoy me and monologuing to the cat."

That lilting trill again, and that's _definitely_ laughter, Izuna thinks. He can't help but smile a little, raising a cautious hand to offer to the bird, and it hops onto his fingers with only the smallest hesitation. Izuna is mostly a cat person, but as he lifts the bird's practically nonexistent weight down, putting bright eyes on the level with his own, he finds that the feel of feathers under his fingertips is less objectionable than he'd thought it would be. The magpie doesn't exactly arch into his touch like a cat would, but it tilts its head against his hand and brushes its beak over his fingers, and he assumes it's about the same.

There's a little patch of blue right behind its eye, to match the color streak its wings and tail, and Izuna only realizes he's brushed his fingertip against it when there's a flicker of surprise that he hasn't gotten pecked.

"I'm ten for ten today," he tells the bird in amusement. "Very impressive." The magpie just tilts its head curiously, and Izuna sighs and brushes the backs of his fingers over its white-and-black chest. He hesitates, then shakes his head and lifts the bird up a little higher. "That shinobi—you guys must know him, right? Has he been living out here in the woods?"

The magpie is perfectly silent, perfectly still, watching him with sharp brown eyes.

"Right," Izuna allows. "You probably wouldn't tell me even if you could. But…keep an eye on him, okay? Make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble. And if he needs something, come get me. I owe him one."

The bird, of course, doesn't respond, and Izuna grimaces, feeling foolish for half-expecting it to. "Just. Keep it in mind? He saved my life. And—I'm glad he's safe."

That, at least, gets him a warbling trill, and with a surge of wings the magpie takes off. The other four rise to join it, and in a moment Izuna is truly alone in the clearing.

He closes his hand into a fist, slow and careful, and breathes out. Somehow, though, he can still feel the weight of a fragile body perched on his fingers, feathers and flight and the rush of wings in the morning sunlight, dark against the sky.

* * *

When Tobirama told Itama to meet him at Hashirama's old favorite spot along the river, he'd thought they would be safe there. After all, Hashirama avoided it because of bad memories, and Tobirama assumed Madara would do the same. He and Hashirama are all too similar, in the end. That's always been the problem.

It is, therefore, an incredibly unpleasant surprise to step out of the trees and find Madara on the opposite bank. Tobirama had been too distracted by the thought of Itama to look, to check with a sensor's sight, and he curses himself for it now, falling back as he reaches for his sword. He isn't wearing armor, either, just civilian clothes, and it puts him at a distinct disadvantage against someone of Madara's skill level.

He'd meant to wear it, he had, because stepping out of the compound without it feels like he may as well be naked, but.

But he'd been wearing it yesterday, and he couldn't feel the warmth of Itama's body through the cold metal. Couldn't remember, except through the insufficient press of fingertips, whether Itama was warm to the touch or as cool as a corpse, and he hadn't been able to even _consider_ the possibility of not feeling it this time.

So no kunai, no armor, no faceplate; nothing but a handful of senbon and his sword to face down Uchiha Madara, whom only Hashirama outmatches.

And—

 _Itama._

Itama is coming here, and has already been killed by the Uchiha once. This time there's no promise of a miracle, _someone else_ to bring him all the way back to life, and Tobirama will slit his own throat before he lets one of his brothers get hurt again. Uchiha Madara will never lay a single blasted finger on Itama, even if Tobirama has to cut each finger off individually to be sure of it.

There is no space for second thoughts, though he wouldn't have them even if there was. No chance to plan, but Tobirama has always been able to improvise when needed.

Besides. He's the strongest Suiton user in Fire Country, and the Nakano lies between himself and Madara.

He _drags_ the chakra up, a massive burst that's perfectly controlled, and doesn't even need the instinctive hand signs. A dragon rises, the river falls, and Tobirama leaps across its now-shallow bed even as Madara's dangerous eyes go wide. The Uchiha doesn't waste time reeling, though; even as the dragon descends he's bringing up his hands, framing familiar signs, and Tobirama focuses on those hands, the muscles in his arms, the shift of his feet for signs of his impending movements. His dragon opens its mouth as the fireball leaves Madara's fingers, swallows it down and explodes into steam, and under the cover of it Tobirama hurls himself forward.

Madara catches a vicious kick aimed at his chest, ducks the sweep of Tobirama's sword, leaps back out of range and tries for another Katon jutsu. This time Tobirama hardly bothers to shape the water at all, pulls a funnel of it up from the rocks and dumps it over Madara's head as he darts around to the side, senbon falling between his fingers as he re-sheaths his blade. Turning to meet him, Madara wrenches his gunbai off his back and sends the fan end hurtling at Tobirama's head, but Tobirama shifts his weight back sharply and slides beneath it, slamming feet-first into Madara's ankles. The Uchiha yelps and almost goes down, and Tobirama whirls to his feet, senbon already flying.

The spinning flail end of the gunbai knocks them from the air even as Madara catches the other side, and he slams bodily into Tobirama, barreling him over. Tobirama hits the ground hard, already moving even though he _knows_ with a desperate edge that it won't be in time—

But Madara doesn't go for the killing blow. He draws back, lets Tobirama scramble to his feet and put a safe distance between them, watching with wary Sharingan eyes but not trying to press his advantage.

"What are you doing, Uchiha?" Tobirama spits, even as he draws his sword again and braces for another attack.

"I could ask you the same thing, Senju," Madara returns, cautious but not aggressive. "You're the one who made the first move."

Tobirama almost snarls. So easy to see Hashirama in this fool—dangerous men with their heads trapped in the clouds, too blinded by dreams to see that they aren't actually _accomplishing_ anything. Too blinded to recognize that the path to peace is closed right now unless they sacrifice more than _any_ peace could be worth.

"Why are you here?" he demands, instead of answering, and it _hurts_ to think that he might have inadvertently put Itama in danger by telling him to come here, lends bite to the words and an edge of venom to his tone.

Madara's eyes narrow, and he shifts his grip on his gunbai just a little. "This bank is Uchiha territory," he retorts. "I don't need any reason to walk my own land, Senju." A glance around the area, at the water streaming back into the body of the river, and he grimaces a little. "Don't tell me that brother of yours is dead and you're about to start crying."

Logic says he means Hashirama, but all Tobirama can think of is Itama's face between his hands, wide red-brown eyes staring up at him, a smile that makes the whole world feel a little brighter.

All he can think of is the small body carried back from a courier mission, the stark fear frozen forever into still features. Just one more coffin to be built, but—

Tobirama had felt like the world ended that day, and he doesn't think he's ever fully managed to recover.

"No," he gets out, and the words are too rough, too strangled, but he can't fix them. He can never fix anything, except he's somehow unknowingly managed to fix _this_ and he doesn't even understand how. "No, Hashirama is fine."

It's possible that relief eases the line of Madara's shoulders, if only slightly. He takes a breath and nods, though his eyes flicker to a spot on the bank like he's looking into a familiar memory.

Only then does the entirety of the words hit Tobirama, and he draws himself up with a huff. "I would not cry," he tacks on, offended by the very idea.

This time the wry curl of Madara's mouth is easy to see. "It's not a weakness to cry for the loss of family," he says, almost chiding, and this time when his eyes flicker back to Tobirama they hold. "Nothing is more important."

Tobirama can't quite make himself look away, even though Madara's Sharingan is clearly activated, even though Tobirama has spent the last twenty-four years of his life learning to fear those eyes more than anything. But Madara makes no move to catch him in a genjutsu, no attempt to steal his will. Just looks at him, and—

Madara chose his family over the concept of peace, even as a child. It's possible that Tobirama managed to forget that, across the years.

He opens his mouth, not quite sure how to respond but willing to make the attempt, when there's a sudden flash of black in the sky. A scream, avian and furious, splits the air, and Tobirama knows instantly what it means. He leaps forward, even as a streak of violet-sheened black plummets straight at Madara's head. White-splashed wings snap open hard, and clawed feet slash at Madara's eyes without hesitation.

With a yelp, the Uchiha leaps back, but the magpie follows, striking out with its beak. Madara cries out again, definitely pain, and lashes out, but the bird—Itama, Itama, it _has_ to be Itama—dodges and immediately launches itself at Madara's face again. Blood flies, splattering the stone, and Madara curses even as he goes reeling back further. Chakra sparks, precursor to a jutsu, and Tobirama moves faster than he can ever remember moving in his life.

He snatches half a pound of furious feathers out of the air, ducks the burst of fire that consumes the spot where Itama just was, and leaps back, trying to keep the grip of his hands gentle even as Itama struggles and shrieks, wings beating desperately.

"No!" Tobirama tells him, even as he retreats to the very edge of the river. "No, stop that, we weren't fighting—"

Itama stops struggling in favor of giving him the most incredulous look he's ever seen from a bird, a sharp flick of his wings taking in the waterlogged bank, the scorched rocks, the scattered senbon. A chittering caw, as pointed as words, and Tobirama can practically hear the ' _Really, aniki?_ '

"We're not fighting _now_ ," he amends, and finally deems it safe to let go a little, shifting his grip on Itama to one hand and cradling the small body against his chest.

Itama chitters unhappily, but doesn't try to get away, though he keeps one sharp eye trained on Madara with deadly intent.

Forcing himself to finally take a breath, Tobirama looks up to find Madara staring at him, blood dripping down his face from several deep gouges on his face. Two centimeters lower for some of them and Itama would have taken out his eye, Tobirama thinks, and doesn't know whether to feel proud or exasperated. Itama isn't one to throw himself into fights, but when he does he's very clever about it, and going for an Uchiha's eyes first is a good strategy if there's little risk of getting caught in a genjutsu.

"The bird is yours?" Madara asks, and there's a peculiar note in his voice as he studies Tobirama, eyes flickering from his face to his careful grip on Itama.

Tobirama opens his mouth to deny it, but before he can Itama gives a warbling trill and beats his wings. Claws dig in to Tobirama's shirt, and in an instant Itama is on his shoulder, pressed right up under his ear and half-buried in silver hair.

There's blood on his beak, and Tobirama is a little proud.

"Yes," he says, because it's a good enough excuse, and lays a hand over Itama to hold him in place as he steps back. He isn't quite sure how to leave this encounter, except that he knows he has to; there's no way he's letting Itama linger anywhere near an Uchiha who might do him harm, and Madara is at the very top of that list.

Madara makes a disgruntled sound, wiping the blood away from his eye. "I should have guessed," he says, and it's almost grumpy. Crossing his arms over his chest, he directs a dark look at Itama, who preens faintly. "I'll have you know that even my falcons aren't usually that vicious."

Itama gives a smug trill and tugs on Tobirama's hair.

Exasperated, Tobirama rolls his eyes at his little brother. "Falcons are predators," he says dryly. "Magpies are survivors." And if that thought makes the breath catch in his chest a little, makes him tighten his grip on Itama, well. No one but Itama has to know.

He turns before Madara can answer, leaps for the far bank and then up into the branches of the trees. Madara isn't following, but Tobirama doesn't risk it, taking a circuitous path towards the most secluded area beside the river that he knows.

The moment they come to a stop, Itama drops from his shoulder. There's a moment where Tobirama's focus seems to blur, like he can't quite manage to look at the magpie straight on, and then Itama is in front of him, already reaching out.

"Did he hurt you?" Itama demands, and hands touch Tobirama's face. "Are you okay?"

Tobirama's chest aches, and he grabs his little brother, dragging him up against his chest. There's no armor in the way this time, nothing to keep him from wrapping his arms around Itama and feeling the warmth of him, the faint hitch of his breath, the way he twines his arms around Tobirama's neck in return. It's what he used to do as a child, after long days of training or tiring missions or encounters with their father. So painfully, perfectly familiar, and maybe a part of Tobirama spent all of last night convinced that this was a dream, but—

It can't be. His dreams are never this good.

"I'm fine," he says, and nothing has ever been truer.

There's a huff like a laugh against his ear, and Itama pulls away enough to smile up at him. He's beautiful, grown into the young man Tobirama had never, ever thought to see him as, and when Tobirama brushes white hair back from his face he laughs, wiggling like he's going to try to get away. "Aniki, tickles!"

Tobirama's heart feels like it's too large to fit his body, and he can't help but smile back. "I brought you a sword. Keep it with you."

"But this is your favorite sword." Because of course Itama would know that; it's hard for Tobirama to think of him spending every moment of the last ten years at Tobirama's side, unseen and unheard, and…maybe he's been careful not to consider that fact too closely. Surely it's a form of torture, living that way, and if Tobirama inflicted it, accidentally or not, on his own little brother—

"Yes," he gets out, before the dark thoughts clog his throat. When Itama opens his mouth to protest, Tobirama lays a hand over it, returning the favor from yesterday. From the amusement in Itama's eyes, he knows what Tobirama is doing, but he doesn't protest, and Tobirama smiles faintly at him. "I've put off naming it for months now. I think there was a reason. It's supposed to be yours."

Itama gives him a tremulous smile, then throws himself forward to hug Tobirama tightly again, squeezing hard. "I love you," he says, and his voice is thick with the tears he's always shown so easily. Tobirama is glad _one_ of them isn't hesitant about revealing emotions, even if he's always worried for Itama's gentle heart. "I saw Madara facing you, and I was _so scared_ —"

Likely not as scared as Tobirama was yesterday, swinging his sword at Izuna only to find Itama, determined but terrified, in the Uchiha's place. The very thought of it makes something within him shake, and he buries his face in Itama's hair and forces himself to breathe.

"I love you too," he says, so very much an understatement that he wants to laugh. Itama was dead, and Tobirama thought the world dark and hopeless. Now Itama is alive, so bright and warm and beautiful, and maybe—

Maybe there is a way for things not to end in tragedy this time around.

For the first time in ten years, Tobirama has hope.


End file.
